Southern Hospitality
by K. Elisabeth
Summary: The "Family in the Tree" gang is back! Brennan goes south to visit her family for Thanksgiving, and learns just how much she has to be thankful for. BB, oneshot. Note: If you've never read my fic "The Family in the Tree", this won't make much sense.


**A/N:** They're baaack! (And no, I don't mean Poltergeist.) I've been waiting for the opportunity to bring back Brennan's family from _The Family in the Tree_, and then Thanksgiving came along and I got this idea and, well, this happened. If you've never read _The Family in the Tree_ then this fic isn't going to make much of any sense to you. I would suggest you go read it first, but it's quite long. So I guess if you haven't read it, you should probably stop now and go find something else holiday-ish to sink your teeth into. And for those of you who have read the fic and are missing Sarah Leigh, Lydia, and the rest of the gang... well, Happy Thanksgiving. :) Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

* * *

"I thought Lydia said fall was the dry season in Florida," Booth grumbled as they drove down the slick highway out of Jacksonville in a small rental car. She had insisted on something gas-efficient, which naturally meant that Booth could barely squeeze his broad shoulders through the door. He felt like he was in a clown car, crouched over the steering wheel as the wipers flicked furiously in front of them.

"Yeah, and I thought Florida was supposed to be warm," Max Keenan groused from the back seat, arms wrapped around his midsection. "Crank the heat up, will ya? I'm not getting any back here."

"Yeah, we're cold," Parker chimed in, drawstrings of his sweater hood pulled tightly around his small face.

"She said winter was the dry season, not fall," Brennan corrected her partner. "It'll probably be another few weeks before the dry weather settles in for them. And dad, this is North Florida—North Florida isn't a tropical climate, it's temperate subtropical like most of the southeastern United States. Their winter temperatures average in the forties and fifties, not much higher than the ones we have in D.C."

"Well that's a gyp," Max said. "I packed nothing but shorts!"

"We're only going to be here until Saturday, I doubt you'll freeze to death before then," Brennan said. "Besides, it's in the sixties now, it's really not that cold."

"Feels cold to me," Max said. Booth nodded.

"Me too," he said. Brennan rolled her eyes.

"You're not cold, you're just wet," she insisted. "Booth, you're going to miss the turn…"

"Look, Kurtz," he said, "I drove this road a million times when we were here last summer. I know how to get there, okay?" She smirked.

"Fine," she said lightly. Booth made the turn with a sour look on his face, which remained for most of their turbulent ride down the pitted, curving mud roads that wove through the North Florida scrub. The condition of the roads, at least, hadn't changed a bit.

Before long they approached the familiar row of dilapidated mailboxes along a stretch of dirt road, rain dripping through the canopy of water oaks and Spanish moss overhead as they found the right turn. Brennan felt her stomach jump as the slanting blue house came into view, screened porch just as haphazard as she remembered it. Three dogs came charging up to the car in greeting, one of whom looked eerily like the late, great Buckshot. Brennan's hesitant smile turned into a full-on grin when she saw a familiar young woman's face, dark and slim, break through the curtains, waving energetically at them. Two smaller faces popped up beneath hers, also waving, and Brennan was sure that every living soul in the house was aware of their arrival by that point.

"It's about time!" Sarah Leigh said as she opened the door, yanking Brennan into a hug. Booth snuck in behind her, carrying their luggage and trying not to drip on the floor.

"Y'all better not be wearin' those muddy shoes into my house!" Lydia hollered in lieu of a proper greeting, setting down a mixing bowl in order to give each of them a hug in turn. They acquiesced and left their shoes at the door, pulling off their socks and dropping them in a soggy heap.

"Aunt Tempe!" Brennan felt a small being tackle her around the middle, and looked down to see a pair of bright blue eyes peering at her through a pair of pink-rimmed glasses.

"Hi Eleanor," she said, bending down to give the child a proper hug. She had shot up at least two inches in the past year and her face had taken on a slimmer appearance, making her look even more like her mother.

"Guess what?" the little girl said.

"I have no idea," Brennan said plainly. Eleanor grinned, and Brennan couldn't help but smile back.

"They're gone!" the child said, pointing to the large gap where both of her front teeth should have been. "Both of 'em!"

"Wow," Brennan said. "Good for you."

"Yeah, more like good for the dentist," Sarah Leigh said. "She fell off the monkey bars at school and knocked one of 'em clean out, broke the other in half. Had to go to the dentist to get the other half removed and all kind of x-rays, make sure her face wasn't broken or anything."

"Whatever," Eleanor said in a very pre-teen way that made Brennan hold back a snort. "Fell out or knocked out, don't matter, the tooth fairy still took 'em!" Brennan nodded and excused herself to help Booth and Parker drag their bags into the back room that was once a vibrant cotton-candy shade of pink. She was surprised to find that it was now a plain, subdued white.

"Yeah, the pink was makin' me a little sick," Sarah Leigh said, coming in behind Brennan.

"This is your room now?" she asked. Sarah Leigh nodded.

"Molly started workin' less hours at the dairy, ever since she started takin' night classes…"

"She's taking night classes?" Brennan asked. "That's great." Sarah Leigh nodded.

"It is," she said. "In the spring she'll get her A.A., then she can get promoted to a spot with better pay. Anyway, since she's doing class at night Eric's been coming home to take care of dinner and all, so Ellie don't stay here very often overnight anymore and I got to move into her room."

"Eric's cooking dinner at night?" Booth asked, mildly dumbfounded by the idea. Sarah Leigh smirked.

"You know, somethin' about him really changed last summer," she said. "I guess all that mess with the jail and me almost gettin' killed set him straight. He's been a damn fine family man ever since."

"That's… interesting," Brennan said, noticing a stack of books on what used to be Eleanor's small white desk. "What are all these for?"

"Oh," Sarah Leigh said, swelling slightly with pride. "Those are for my classes that I'm taking this semester. Biology, Algebra, American History, English, and Psychology."

"You're in school too?" Brennan asked, even more shocked. Sarah Leigh nodded.

"I am," she said. "I quit my job after last Christmas, started school in the spring. This is my second semester. Finally put all that money I had saved up from the bar to good use, huh?"

"I'd say," Brennan said. "Good for you."

"Thanks," she said. "I'm gonna try to at least get my A.A., maybe more. We'll see. Seein' Molly get started with it last year after y'all left really made me think about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, you know? That's when I realized, I don't want to be a forty year old bartender."

"I think that's a wise decision," Brennan said. Before anything else could be said, though, a high-pitch shriek from the kitchen sent them all running down the hall to see what was the matter. Sarah Leigh burst into prompt laughter when they all saw the Buckshot-esque dog, covered in mud, with his face in a half-eaten sweet potato pie on the kitchen floor.

"I _hate_ this stupid dog!" Lydia shouted, her powerful voice ringing painfully in Brennan's ears. "Get this damn animal out of my kitchen before I kill it!" Sarah Leigh quickly grabbed the lanky adolescent dog by the scruff of its neck and dragged it down the hall into the bathroom, laughing the entire way.

"Ain't no doubt in my mind," Lydia groused as she picked up the remains of what had once been a delicious looking pie, tossing them angrily into the trash can. "Pain in my ass, just like his daddy." Brennan wet a handful of paper towels and began cleaning up the muddy mess on the floor.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Lydia rolled her eyes.

"That's B.J.," she said, motioning in the direction of the hallway where Lydia had taken the half-grown pup into the bathroom to clean him up. "Buckshot Junior. Apparently right before he got killed, Buckshot had a little rendezvous with the dog down the road, belongs to the Sanderson's. Amy Sanderson called me up about two months after y'all left, tells me her dog got pregnant and now that the puppies are born, they look a hell of a lot like that one brown dog of ours. Of course, she meant Buckshot."

"So that's…?"

"Buckshot's pup, yeah," she said. "Amy was givin' 'em away and she brought me the one that looked most like him, said she thought I might want it, given what happened to Buckshot and all. And since I'm the world's biggest sucker, I took him." Lydia continued shaking her head as she pulled a vacuum out of the hall closet, uncoiling the cord and plugging it into the wall.

"That's pretty amazing," Brennan shouted over the roar of the vacuum as Lydia sucked up the dirty pawprints on the carpet.

"If you think it's so damn amazing, you can just take him home with you then!" she hollered. Brennan laughed and shook her head.

"No thank you," she said at a normal tone after the vacuum had turned off.

"Uh huh," Lydia said. "You see? Everyone likes him, nobody wants him. He's a pain in the ass mutt just like his daddy was a pain in the ass mutt." They both looked out the kitchen window, far across the rain-soaked yard to a place where a small flower bush had taken root.

"Who planted that?" Brennan asked.

"Mike and John did," Lydia said. "Figured since he saved their cousin and all, it was the least they could do."

"Right," Brennan said. They had a moment of silence before Lydia clapped her hands together and sighed.

"Well, we still got a lot of cookin' to do before tomorrow. Here's a peeler," she said, pulling the old-fashioned metal blade out of the drawer, "and there's the potatoes that need peelin'." Brennan turned in the direction Lydia was pointing and saw a large sack of Idaho potatoes sitting against the wall.

"How many of them?" Brennan asked. Lydia snorted.

"All of them." A look must've fallen on Brennan's face because Lydia began laughing. "What, you seen how many people we got to feed! Get on it!"

"That's right, honey," Max said from his comfy position on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. "There's a lot of people to feed."

"I don't think so, Max Keenan," Lydia said, pointing a spatula at him from within the kitchen. "If you wanna eat, then you're gonna have to work for it. I got a bag of green beans in the fridge that need to be washed and snapped for casserole, that's your job." Max gave her a sour look and she added sharply, "Go on, get at it!"

oOoOoOoOo

By the next afternoon the sun had come out and all of the food was coming together nicely, an army of cooks working under Lydia's close supervision. Max closely guarded the oven, insisting that the bird was his sole responsibility. He kept a spatula in hand and carefully warded off the other men in the family, all of whom secretly vied for the honor of using the electric carving knife to flay the cooked bird.

"Okay, y'all done what y'all can do, now you're jus takin' up space," she said, ushering them out of the kitchen. They dispersed throughout the house and yard, which had dried up nicely since the rain let up the day before, and Brennan took a seat in the middle of the couch. She was quickly flanked by her cousins Molly and Charlene.

"So," Charlene said expectantly, almost more of a question than a statement. Brennan raised her eyebrows.

"So?"

"_So_," Charlene repeated, then huffed impatiently. "So are y'all gonna ever get married or what?" Brennan was taken aback by the question—yes, they had made their relationship status official upon leaving the river home the summer before, but there had been no talk of life-long commitment. In fact, she hadn't even thought about the possibility—it just wasn't on her radar.

"What?" No," Brennan said. "No, we're not getting married."

"Yet," Molly said. "But y'all will eventually, right?"

"I don't… why does it matter?" Her cousins sighed in stereo on either side of her.

"You're one of _those_, aren't you?" Charlene asked.

"One of what, exactly?" Brennan asked.

"One of those 'modern women' who doesn't believe in marriage or any of that stuff," Charlene explained. "You probably think getting married is stupid and a waste of time, right? That y'all can just live together as 'partners'?" Brennan's brows furrowed slightly as she nodded.

"Yes," she said. "I believe marriage is an antiquated ceremony that has no real value. It was originally intended to symbolize the transfer of property—that is, a woman—from one man to another. I am not property; I do not need a ceremony to reinforce that ancient belief." Molly gave a long-suffering sigh.

"It's not about property," she said. "Well, maybe it used to be, I dunno. But when I married Eric, it wasn't about me bein' his property. It was about love, and celebrating love. It's like a big party to say, 'I love this guy and I'm going to love him forever, and I want to shout it in front of the whole wide world.'"

"You don't know that," Brennan pointed out. "Nobody can be certain that they'll love another person for the rest of their lives, it's impossible to know."

"You think so?" Molly asked, looking through the living room window which was thrown open to catch the cool breeze. Outside Booth, Eric, Mike, and John were gathered around a portable television, each with a beer in hand, watching a football game. Parker and Brandon, who had made fast friends given their proximity in age, sat alongside their fathers with cans of root beer and pretended to be grown. Brennan even caught Parker trying to spit the way he saw Eric do, and she couldn't help but smile.

"You really think there's any chance in the world that you won't love that man for the rest of your life?" Charlene asked. "Sean's been dead two years now, and I still love him with all my heart. Always will. When you love someone, really love 'em like that… it doesn't go away. When it's right, it's right forever."

"Mhmm," Molly agreed. "Me and Eric been through some rough spots, but I ain't never stopped loving him, and I never will. For better or worse, 'til death do us part. I love him more than anything and I'm never leaving him."

"Well I don't intend on leaving Booth either, but I certainly don't need a ring and a piece of paper to prove it," Brennan defended. "I don't need to broadcast my feelings to the world, I don't need to wear a ring like some sort of tag to let other men know that I'm unavailable."

"You don't think he might want you to?" Charlene posed the question innocently.

"What do you mean?" Brennan asked.

"I mean, don't you think maybe he might want you to wear that ring, to let the whole world know that you're his? That maybe he might want you to be proud enough of him to show it off on your finger?"

"I don't… Booth knows my feelings about marriage," she said. "He understands, he said he's completely okay with that."

"Because he loves you," Molly stressed. "And he'll do anything for you, even put away that dream of you wearin' his ring and being his wife. He loves you enough to give you that." Brennan didn't say anything, but ruminated on her cousin's words.

Charlene excused herself when Bethany, now two and toddling around on her own feet with a head full of curly brown hair, came up and told Charlene that she was wet. Molly got up to help set the many pushed-together tables that stretched from the kitchen all the way into the living room, leaving Brennan alone on the couch with her thoughts. With the two women gone, B.J. quickly filled the empty space one of them left behind, jumping up on the couch and resting his head in Brennan's lap.

"I don't think you're allowed up here," she said quietly to the dog as she stroked his square head, his large brown eyes fixed on hers. His huge paws showed just how much more growing he had to do, even at a year old already, and she had to marvel at just how much he looked like his sire.

"Y'all get in here and wash up, it's about time to eat!" Lydia hollered through the door, snapping Brennan into reality. She didn't know how long she'd been sitting on the couch petting the dog, but he was sound asleep and had left a considerable puddle of drool soaked into the lap of her jeans.

The house was quickly packed to the gills, and Brennan thought she saw the very walls shift to allow for more room. Her aunts Lydia, Judy, and Esther, along with her cousins Darren, Molly, Eric, Sarah Leigh, Mike, John, and Charlene, Sarah Leigh's boyfriend Larry, Mike's ex-wife Lisa, Mike's kids Maggie and Danny, Charlene's kids Maya and Bethany, Molly's kids Eleanor and Brandon, Booth and Parker, Max, and her grandmother Mema brought the headcount to 22, plus herself. She was bewildered by the amount of noise and bustle so many people could make in one tiny house as they each found a spot at the lengthy collection of tables, sitting impatiently in front of the empty paper plates laid out before them.

"Alright, y'all all take hands," Lydia instructed as Darren stood, ready to pray. Brennan took the hands of the people next to her—Booth on her right, and Sarah Leigh on her left—and they all bowed their heads as Darren began to speak.

"Heavenly Father," he started, "we're here today to celebrate a bounty. A bounty of food, a bounty of family and friends, and most importantly, a bounty of love. Your love for us has brought us through the worst things we could endure, and without You it wouldn't have been possible. Now we sit here together as a family, together with our cousin Temperance and her father Max for the first time, and we know that without You this never would have been possible. We are also grateful for those we've adopted into this family, which was admittedly large to begin with." He paused as a chorus of chuckles rang through the air. "Seeley Booth, his son Parker, Larry, who puts up with Sarah Leigh in ways that boggle my mind…"

"Hey now," she said sharply, and the entire table laughed. Darren grinned, his face still tired as it was the last time Brennan had seen him but somehow lighter and fuller.

"… as well as Lisa, who will always be a part of this family. We're grateful to You, Father, for every person sitting here…"

"And B.J.!" Eleanor piped before Molly could shush her. Darren smiled.

"And B.J., whose father Buckshot You used to save the life of one of our own. For Buckshot, B.J., and everyone else here, we are thankful. In Jesus' name, Amen."

"Amen!" the family chorused, and then turned into a pack of wild hyenas descending on the buffet of food laid out on the kitchen counters. Brennan now realized why she was forced to peel and boil almost twenty pounds of potatoes—food was flying left and right, and she felt lucky that there was enough to fill her plate with.

They ate and laughed, joking and ribbing one another in the way only family can. Several drinks were spilled, a napkin briefly caught fire, and a piece of pie was inadvertently donated to the dog waiting underneath the table, but all in all the meal was a success. As clean-up began and the kids quickly disappeared outside, Mike pulled Brennan and Booth aside.

"Hey, I thought y'all might wanna see somethin'," he said.

"What's that?" Booth asked. Mike didn't say anything but handed each of them a plate laden with food and covered with tin foil.

"Y'all just hold these on the ride, don't spill 'em," he said, and the three of them loaded into his Bronco and were off.

It didn't take long for Booth to realize where they were going once they rounded the corner where the closed-up gas station still stood, black tarps hanging in the windows, old gas pump still standing in the middle of the empty lot. They drove down the long, smooth road and Booth couldn't help but notice an interesting phenomenon. Of all the trees they saw lining the side of the road, only about half of them had turned colors and dropped their leaves. He recognized several maples, their orange leaves turning brown and curling up as they dropped to the grass below, but he also saw the tall, stoic oaks with all of their leaves still green and intact.

"Why don't they lose their leaves?" Booth asked. Mike shrugged.

"Dunno," he said. "Some trees lose their leaves late, around this time of year, maybe even into December. Other trees never do, like most of the oak trees. Dunno why." Eventually they turned down a narrow dirt path that cut through the half-leafed trees and into a clearing, where a familiar blue house still stood. It had since received a fresh coat of paint, and the truck parked out front had been replaced by a handicapped-accessible van.

"He can't drive the truck with one leg," Mike lamented.

"So I guess they found another McVicar, then?" he asked. Mike nodded.

"Tit for tat," he said. "The FBI kept their word. They said if they were able to use the info he gave to find another McVicar, they'd let him go. They did, and they kept their promise."

"What about Mary?" Brennan asked. Mike tried not to smile.

"You'll see," he said. He lead them up the stairs, which now had a ramp installed along the side, and rapped on the solid wood door while Brennan and Booth stood beside him, each still holding their plates dutifully. There was the sound of shuffling footsteps, then the door opened.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mary," Mike said, reaching out and giving the small woman a hug. She hugged him back, and Brennan and Booth were both utterly stunned by the woman they saw standing before them.

She was nothing like how they had left her. Her face was full, cheeks flushed with color, and her eyes no longer looked like empty holes in her face. They were bright and alive, and steadily focused as she turned to each of them and nodded a welcome.

"Mike, are you gonna introduce me to your friends?" she asked. It was then that Booth realized—she didn't remember them at all. Mike quickly picked up on it as well.

"Of course," he said. "This is my cousin Temperance, and her boyfriend Seeley Booth." Mary smiled at them and let the three of them into the house, which very well could have been a completely different house than the one they'd walked out of a year ago. The curtains were drawn open, illuminating the brightly polished wood inside, and the creeping sense of decay had been eradicated.

"What happened to her?" Booth whispered in awe into Mike's ear.

"Strong medication," Mike quietly responded. "And a lot of therapy."

She lead them down the hallway into the kitchen, where they found Carl McVicar Jr. sitting in a wheelchair at the dining room table.

"Mike, Agent Booth," he said, recognizing Booth immediately even though his sister had not. "It's been a while. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving to you too. We brought y'all some food," Mike said, motioning towards the plates that Brennan and Booth had been carrying. They set them down on the table and Carl gave them an appreciative look.

"Thank you so much," he said. "Neither Mary or I really knows how to cook, so we don't really get to making dinners like this…"

"No problem," Mike said. "We just wanted to make sure y'all had a good Thanksgiving dinner."

"Well, we appreciate it," Carl said, looking up at Booth in particular. "Really." Booth swallowed and nodded, knowing he was looking at both a killer and a good man simultaneously. It was difficult to forget, but as he looked down at Carl's wheelchair and amputated leg, and saw the life in Mary's once-dead eyes, he realized that time brought change, and change was necessary. Carl had changed from a veiled killer to an honest man, Mary had changed from the shell of a human being to a woman well on her way to recovery, and an entire family had changed enough to forgive those who harmed them, and move on.

"Well, we oughta get back home, I'm sure the rest of the family's wonderin' if we ran off and left 'em," Mike said with a smile, and Carl nodded.

"Of course," he said. "Thanks again for the food and the visit."

"Anytime," Mike said, and Booth could tell from the kindness in his voice that he truly meant it. Mary walked them to the door, and gave Mike a gentle hug. She nodded to Booth and Brennan each in turn, and Booth was mesmerized by her face. It was so alive, so completely and fully present, and it was stunning.

"Happy Thanksgiving," she said, waving them off as they loaded into the Bronco.

"Happy Thanksgiving," they replied, and they knew that for the Moretti/McVicar family, despite everything they had faced, it truly was.

oOoOoOoOo

Late that night Brennan and Booth were curled up on the lumpy pull-out couch, the both of them barely able to fit. Despite the number of occupants the house was quiet and still, with only the sound of the dog groaning occasionally in his sleep at the foot of the bed to disturb the silence.

"Booth," Brennan whispered, wondering if he was awake. No reply. She wiggled a little in her sleep, hoping the movement would stir him.

"Booth," she repeated, and this time he groaned in response.

"Whuh?" he asked, hot breath blowing on the back of her neck.

"I… nevermind," she said, having no idea how to properly breach the subject. He grumbled and nestled up closer to her, wrapping his arm around her midsection and predictably lapsing back into sleep. A few minutes later, she wiggled again.

"Booth," she said.

"What?" he asked, this time clearly. Apparently he had not gone back to sleep after all.

"Do you… I don't know," she said, turning over and pulling the blanket up over her shoulder. "Nothing, nevermind." He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at the back of her head.

"Oh come on," he said. "Seriously, what is it?" She turned over so that she was facing him.

"I just… it doesn't bother you that I don't want to get married, does it?" she asked. He looked surprised, and had good reason to be considering the fact that they had never once said the _m-word_ since they'd started dating over a year ago.

"What? No, of course not," he said. "Why? What did your cousins say to you?" She laughed, and had to smother her mouth with her hand to prevent the sound from carrying down the hallway.

"They just said something to me that made me wonder," she admitted. "You know I think marriage is antiquated and unnecessary… but I know you don't feel that way."

"I know, but it's fine, it doesn't matter to me. I love you, Temperance, not marriage. If loving you means never getting married, I think it's a fair trade."

"But do you want to?" she asked. "I don't want to make you give up something that's important to you. I could… I could learn to live with it, if you really wanted to get married some day. I could wear a ring, if it really means that much to you." He gave her a soft, stirring look through the dark that she couldn't place. She didn't know if he was pleased, or amused, or confused, or all of the above—his expression wasn't giving any clues. Finally he leaned in and kissed her.

"I love you," he said. "And I don't want you to have to wear anything you don't want to, or do anything you don't want to. We don't need a ring, or a piece of paper, or a big white dress, okay? Not if you don't want it."

"But I want it if you want it," she said. "I don't want you to have to give it up for me." He paused before speaking, reaching over and running his fingers through her loose hair.

"That might be the most unselfish thing you've ever said," he said. "And that's why I don't need any of those things. I have you, and that's enough for me."

"Really?" she said, and he nodded, laying back down and curling into the shape of her body, wrapping his arm around her again.

"Really really," he said. "No stupid dress, no expensive ring, no big party. Just us. That's enough for me. I'm thankful for what we have now, exactly the way it is." She sighed with heavy relief, turning around and nuzzling into his chest.

"I'm thankful, too," she said.

"Well then," he said, smiling and leaning in for another kiss, "Happy Thanksgiving."


End file.
